by David Roche
And Facebook is not for antiques.
It started when I was texting;
She’d find my inbox and peruse it.
So I’d smartphone an upgrade and confuse the old maid:
With no scoobie on just how to use it.
Mum’s ancient, from the Stone Age,
Has no idea what I meme.
She’ll never receive a TBH
Cos she’s from the Age of Steam.
Mum should never go on Snapchat.
She never will succeed
To understand the habitat
Of Pinterest or BuzzFeed.
She then downloaded WhatsApp
And signed up to Instagram.
There was too much of an age gap;
She tried to send a telegram…
YouTube, Netflix and Spotify
Are OK – I gave her that titbit –
But she’s never, ever sharing with me if
I’m showing a pulse on Fitbit.
So stay on your LinkedIn and Saga Zone
And don’t even think about Twitter.
Your excuses are waffle (you should see me just ROFL).
You look old and twisted and bitter.
So don’t wonder what I do at bedtime
Or try watching what I do upstairs.
It’s my room and my mates – you’ll never meet my dates –
Just trust me. Or I’ll check your affairs…
Prize Giving
I wish my parents wouldn’t come.
I wish they’d stay away.
It’s just no fun, when you’ve won none,
To attend a No Prize Day.
But they do insist on being there;
It’s one they wouldn’t miss.
Mum’s all dolled up, Dad’s just got up
After a Friday on the piss.
The Governors’ procession is a miserable line;
Grim-faced they walk up the aisle
Like some death march, all stiffness and starch;
The setting is getting hostile.
Then just when you thought that it couldn’t get worse,
The orchestra comes in crashing.
With scraping and bowing, the music is going,
To get a damn good, metaphorical thrashing.
The Headmaster’s up next, in predictable form.
It’s all “journeys” and “launch pads” and “goals”.
We “must act our age” as we’ve “reached the next stage”.
And “…in the next act we play adult roles”.
The fathers of kids make a penitent show;
Heads bowed indicate they’re respecting…
But they’re bluffing – moreover, they’re completely hungover.
It’s their emails, in fact, they’re inspecting.
It’s time for the ranking; who’s better than whom?
Did you get to your preferred school?
Or were you just beaten to Westminster and Eton?
Is there foolproof proof you’re a fool?
The Head Boy is given The Headmaster’s Prize.
The wimp wins The Chivalry Cup.
The thug (no decorum) wins the Victor Ludorem.
Is this all not predictable? Yup.
It’s endless as queues parade to the stage.
Their parents all strain for a look
As Tarquin or Sophie pick up the maths trophy
And collect the inevitable book.
It’s time for the speech from the celeb who’s come,
She’s one of the kids’ auntie’s friends.
We’d been looking forward, but now aspire doorward,
As the bore has the floor with no end…
Then it’s finished, it’s tea and cucumber sarnies.
I’m an “old boy” at 13 already.
The mums can just prattle on, tittle and tattle,
While the dads (sotto voce) ask, “Ready?”
When I look back I’ll think what was that all about?
Was it character-forming or scam?
But all that does matter is my old Alma Mater
Taught me how to pass an exam.
Frankly, Mrs Butler…
“If I can have a quiet word…”
Is generally how it’s started.
The expression on Headmaster’s face
Is the same as if I’d farted.
Then comes the opening gambit
When you’ve missed your third appointment:
“Well, frankly, Mrs Butler… ”
With that look of disappointment.
“The staff attend in their own time;
It’s outside of normal hours.
Most parents want to get feedback
On their loved one’s learning powers.
“And your son has shown real talent
With his progress on the triangle,
But you missed the concert once again.
What excuse, this time, can you fangle?
“His rhythm is better and his phrasing is fine.
He has worked very hard on his phonics.
If you showed the same commitment as him,
Then you’d not reek of three gin and tonics.
“Your son at recent exhibitions,
Showed proficiency in Art Deco,
But you missed the talks while unpopping corks
Of some delightfully chilled, dry Prosecco.
“So we seem to have a big problem.
This evening is just a sample.
Your son has no chance,” (he looked quite askance),
“When you set such a rotten example.
“The school has a reputation
That it’s important we protect.
Our children are ambassadors
And they treat us with respect.
“And most of the parents are a delight.
They’re active and do get involved.
But there are one or two, and I’m looking at you,
Who are problems that remain unresolved.
“You’re with us or you’re against us,
And on trust this relationship’s built.
And what part of the fun is, the fact that your son is
Related, just makes you feel guilt.
“I want you to go home and have a good think;
The Lord does work mysteriously.
And when you get there do not have a drink.
Be responsible and please take this seriously.”
So I return home all shameful and downcast
And wait for my husband to come.
There’s no dinner awaits him; I’m a terrible wife
As well as a terrible mum.
But at last he gets back from his long day at work.
Takes his tie off before it can throttle.
“What a day,” he utters, and then to me mutters:
“I’d better go get us a bottle…”
Bully for You
Have you ever been to the tuck shop,
Bought your sweets, then been confronted?
The biggest thug stands in your way
And makes you feel quite stunted.
He wants you to give him your Mars bar,
He’ll batter you – or worse, maybe.
For him it’s no problem, it’s as easy as
Taking candy from a baby.
But you must learn to defend yourself –
Stand up and face the music.
Even if you’ve a tear and you have a fear
That threatens to make you feel sick.
You cannot be a pushover,
You have to be more furtive.
Tread the fine line, stiffen your spine,
And learn to be assertive.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones.
Names can never hurt me.”
But bullying can be emotional
And do more than disconcert me.
Bullying can take many different kinds:
There’s physical, verbal and cyber
,
Psychological too, and unless you
Stop it early you’ll become a subscriber.
The bully must have a target,
And they prey on anyone different.
But don’t rise to the bait; just learn to wait
And try to be indifferent.
So imagine that you are ticklish
And they’re asking – and testing – but when
It’s your turn just get through the first time
And you’ll find it won’t happen again.
And a bully doesn’t like it
If you push back and try to stand tall.
You’ve heard the expression that sums them all up:
If they’re bigger, the harder they fall.
A bully is someone who is suffering themselves;
They may well have been maltreated.
They are often victims and then take it out
On others, and so it’s repeated.
So next time a bully tries picking on you
Don’t let them become abusive.
They thrive when damning diversity.
Be their Kryptonite – and be inclusive.
Thank You, Baby Boomers
There’s a group that suffers from rumours
And deserve our condemnation:
They’re called the Baby Boomers –
The Most Selfish Generation.
So just who are this greedy lot?
They’re your grandpa, they’re your nan,
And, if a late starter, it’s your dad,
Because he’s an older man.
They were born after World War II
(After nineteen forty-five),
From then up to the Sixties
To round about ’65.
They lived in what’s called a “golden age”,
They’d never had it so good.
They never fought in a Great War;
Had the ideal childhood.
Their teens were the ’60s and ’70s
It was all a haze of smoke.
Their cigarettes were Lebanese,
They taught the world to sing with a Coke.
Then they went to university.
Paid for on a full grant.
They knew nothing of adversity.
They were left a few grand by some aunt.
Their first job was in advertising
(At uni they’d done journalism).
The interview was a rubber stamp.
Their dad knew the boss. Nepotism.
Then they got on the property ladder:
A first flat with a generous mortgage.
No snakes in this game, no poisonous adder,
Always gains and never a shortage.
Then maybe got married, and then had a kid.
The nice flat would no longer suffice.
“We’ll sell it and move to a much bigger place –
Oh look, it’s doubled in price!”
So what did they have, these “wunderkinds”?
NHS and North Sea Oil;
They were sent all sorts of favourable winds,
Any poo just enriched the soil.
They lived in consumer wonderland
Had long holidays, wider travel.
The Continent replaced Sunderland.
Their driveways were covered in gravel.
This was the era of invention,
They put a man upon the moon.
At home they bought a dishwasher
To wash three sizes of spoon.
Well, lucky old you…
You look back and become sentimental.
The truth is inconvenient:
Your damage went environmental.
Don’t expect us to be lenient.
So you lived a life of plenty
In relative ecstasy.
The luxury Cognoscenti.
So what now is your legacy?
Unlike you we pay for our unis,
U turned on us – tuition fees!
We now take out a mortgage
Just to get our measly degrees.
Then we look for gainful employment,
Find the market is like the slave trade.
And, much to our enjoyment,
Become interns even though it’s unpaid.
And, you stopped building houses.
The votes from the NIMBYs were carried.
So we live in a bedsit with spouses,
Though we can’t afford to get married.
And Lord help us if we are sick,
Get a tumour so big our pants split.
As the greedy and needy who got rich quick
Had the NHS finance it.
You bought property from your vast probate.
Bought to let and ripped off your lodgers.
Then diddled the tax due from your estate;
You don’t need a yacht to be dodgers.
And you lot will live forever,
No stress or hypertension.
The ultimate “whatever”
With your gold-plated, inflated pension.
You’re off on your cruises, in your upgraded classes.
Inheritance spending’s not hard.
We’re thankful our taxes pay your bus passes;
The world is your Oyster Card.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough,
From the era that has all and wrecks it,
You decide that it’s really too good for us
And vote in favour of Brexit.
So what becomes of Generation Z,
Or, as we’re sometimes called, iGen?
You lived in clover, we’ve got your hangover,
We’re poorer than you were at 10.
But you’ve set us an example,
You had it all and blew it.
We agree that we’ve learned, if my friends are a sample,
Just exactly how NOT to do it.
So now we’ll work to clean up your mess.
There’s a truth that we’ve learned to believe.
The Me, Me, Me ethos will be buried with you.
It’s better to give than receive.
And one specifically for the parents, no matter
how old your kids are…
If You Bill It, They Will Come
Let’s face it:
When your kids
Are in their teens
They prefer their machines
To any of their genes.
Their parents
Are, at best,
A punishment.
Handbrake, impediment,
Extreme embarrassment.
Too “grown up”,
No time for
Your holiday:
A fun-packed getaway,
A week in Colwyn Bay?
After school, a gap year?
They want somewhere tip top.
Backpack, hiking, flip flops, party island
Hostels, beer, hip-hop, Ibiza, Thailand…
No postcards, no text news,
No info, just a blur.
A call: dosh scant, transfer, I’ll pay you back.
Are you OK? Banter. A heart attack?
Then just about the time
They can’t afford full board
Or a smorgasbord at home or abroad,
It’s all about what parents can afford.
Throw money at the problem if you can.
They’ll make time if there’s beaches and suntan.
In order to book a three-line whip vacation,
Just focus on location, location, location.
Skegness, Southend-on-Sea and Bognor Regis
Just do not cut the mustard as prestigious.
But offer skiing in Whistler, Zermatt or Gstaadt,
And I think you’ll find you’re holding the trump card.
Try Copacabana, Seychelles or Aruba;
Galapagos Islands, Maldives – for some scuba.
A city break might make the grade, if you pitch it right:
New York, Shang
hai, Cape Town or Laos (and not an economy flight).
So they really will come if you cough up enough.
If you do not dig deep, then expect a rebuff.
The time-honoured words of the Beatles were really just hype:
That “money can’t buy you love” is clearly just tripe!
Bless their little cotton socks…
About the Author
David Roche was born in London, got a faintly grubby degree in psychology at Durham University, and then got married far too young. Thirty years later, he and his Finnish wife have three sons in their twenties. David has worked, for what seems to him an inordinately long time, as a director of HMV, Waterstones, Borders and Books etc., and also in publishing at HarperCollins. He now lives in Kingston upon Thames and has several roles related to books and writing. This is his first book.